Hysteria

As he worked my clit, he scowled up at me, and muttered through his teeth, "What will make this happen faster?"

I felt two scalding tears squeeze through my lashes under my cold fingertips, and I shook my head wretchedly. I couldn't tell him how to please me.

Dr. Walsh answered by applying more pressure against my clit with his broad thumb, until I could feel the bruised little nub throbbing with its own hot pulse. "Answer me," he demanded coldly.

I whimpered in humiliation, but made myself form the words. "Squeeze my tits.."

"Absolutely not," he returned staunchly. "Try again."

I choked back a sob and shuddered -- did I dare ask him? I covered my mouth and cringed as I murmured feebly, "Put something inside me." The sound of the request coming from my lips made me tremble feverishly as I imagined his gloved fist forcing its way inside me, and I clawed my fingers into my hair, frantic with arousal.

He turned just a bit, without releasing the pressure on my tortured clitoris, and after a moment, I felt the now familiar dig of the speculum entering me again. I drew a sharp breath, staring down at him as he worked it quickly into me, and began to squeeze the handles. His mouth twisted cruelly on a little smirk. "That's what you want inside you, isn't it?"

I shrieked breathily, feeling the instrument spread me open again with a wet, sloppy sound, and I grunted like a sow as his fingers flicked my engorged clit. My back arched as I shoved my hips forward, trying to take the speculum deeper, and I gasped, "Oh lick it -- lick it --"

"No." His voice was hard and final.

"Then pinch it, doctor, please..." I writhed my hips in a silent plea, and he had to reach to push the hood from my clit and pinch the tender little bud brutally between a strong finger and thumb -- I thought I would die if I couldn't come -- I squeezed my thighs closed around his hand, but he pushed them open again.

Then without warning, I felt a finger or thumb from his other hand pushing into my spasming anus, a dry and aching invasion, and I began to convulse helplessly between his hands. He laughed briefly in harsh triumph, his brow gleaming with sweat, and sneered at me as he watched me lose all control under his gaze. "Yes, that's what you like, isn't it? Come on now -- finish it!"

I came unabashedly on his exam table, gritting my teeth to keep from screaming as my splayed sex belched in violent pleasure, and the metal speculum rattled in me as loud as a cow bell. I could feel my anus gumming his finger fitfully, and I rose right up to take him as deeply as a could as I felt the last rush of pleasure flood my senses.

He took his hands away the instant I was finished, but left the speculum in. To my now painfully sensitive tissues it was an unbearable discomfort, and as soon as I could speak I begged him in a whine to take it out.

"Oh, not yet," he grinned derisively, taking tools from his instrument tray and moving between my thighs again. I felt him take a merciless swab of my cervix, and then he drew back, as if in slight revulsion as he made the slide. He didn't look at me.

"Get up. Bend over the table."

Gingerly, I slid my feet out of the cold stirrups and sat up with a crackle of paper. I tried to peel the sheet from my skin surreptitiously and eyed him warily as he prepared the shot.

He looked up at me without amusement and ordered me off the table, flicking the needle with a fingernail so viciously that I shivered and quickly obeyed. I flinched as my toes touched the cold tile, but leaned over the table, glad that I did not have to face him for this.

He did not keep me in suspense. Before I had even lowered my head down between my arms, the stringent burn of rubbing alcohol tickled my nose and I felt the impatient swipe of the pad, high on my right hip. He jabbed the needle in without a word, and I shifted uncomfortably as I felt him begin to push the drug into the muscle.

I cried out at the burning sensation as he forced it into me, but was cut off with a sharp: "Quiet!" I pressed my open mouth into the flesh of my arm to silence my helpless moans.

With a long expulsion of breath, I felt him inject the last of the drug and lean back, the fine needle slipping out of my skin. He tossed it in a sharps container at the foot of the table, and stripped off his gloves. I looked over my shoulder to see his glaring face, dark with frustration. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and nodded at me curtly. "Get dressed. And get out."

He didn't pull the curtain across this time, but he seemed completely uninterested as I turned around and began pulling on my underwear. He walked to the sink and proceeded to wash his hands very slowly and meticulously, lathering several times as I slid into my skirt and blouse. I wondered if he really found me disgusting, or if it was just an excuse not to look at me again.

I stepped into my shoes and looked at his turned back expectantly. The water kept running in the sink, he didn't even turn around, and I opened my lips and ventured hesitantly, "I -- I want to apologize --"

"Out!" he turned over his shoulder long enough to bark the command, and the dangerous flash of his eyes told me I had definitely overstayed my welcome. I grabbed my purse and left in a hurry, to cross red-faced through the waiting room, and wonder how much of it they'd heard.